


Fight Back At The Pouring Rain

by twenty_one_plants



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Delusions, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Hallucinations, M/M, Metroid - Freeform, Motion City Soundtrack, Rain, Schizophrenia, Songfic, Songfic based off of the song The Weakends by Motion City Soundtrack, Surgery, The Weakends, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Transgender!Tyler, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twenty_one_plants/pseuds/twenty_one_plants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days later. One song written. It hurts. </p><p>Tyler stands outside in the pouring rain, in the parking lot beside the apartment building, the air smells like rain and asphalt and tears. <br/>He’s standing in the center of the paved area, rain boots on over skinny jeans. <br/>A random button-up shirt over his binder. <br/>No rain jacket- a floral coat of sorts. </p><p>Rain boots submerged in a puddle of water, down below, tears mixing with hurt and rain.</p><p> </p><p>(Songfic based on the song The Weakends by Motion City Soundtrack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Back At The Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fobfantasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fobfantasia/gifts).



It’s _always_ raining here.

It’s always raining hard in this space, this area. Not only within his mind, but always outside. Rain dragging him down.

Rain soaking the windows, patterning and _begging_ to be let inside the tiny apartment.

It’s rough to feel the rain on your cheeks, masking the tears that run down his face.

 

 

_Quicksand is a coat of arms_

 

 

_Routinely, now._

Pull the binder over your chest, make sure you don’t leave it on too long- he has a timer on his phone for when he needs to take it off.

It’s funny.

A binder binds your chest, but once it was taken _off..._

 

 

_Looseleaf and some liquid fiction_

 

 

 _He felt trapped._ Chest collapsing and spilling out. The binder held his emotions in place, but he had to take it off, or else bones would get hurt.

 

 

_Last Rites every Friday night_

 

 

Tyler’s eyes hurt. A lot.

 

 

_Am I weaker with the lights on?_

 

 

Shutting off the lights inside the apartment; it was a studio apartment on… around the fifth floor of a building, his friend rented it out to him so he could make music.

Who wants to listen to music about tearing yourself apart? About all those _little, twisted fantasies._

 

 

_High tide tight around the neck_

 

 

Even the twisted fantasies that everyone hated. Ones about gender. They weren’t actually twisted, rather, hopeful.

Tyler noticed people misgendering him on purpose. People would make fun of the songs, calling them twisted. They really _weren’t._

 

 

_The same song everybody's bleeding_

 

 

It made his thin fingers want to _snap_ and _break._ A deep breath inhaled as he feels the binder comfortably around his chest.

He still had two hours to leave it on, since he got a bit of a late start today.

Tyler stayed in bed until three in the afternoon.

 

 

_What makes me so different?_

 

 

It never stops raining. A mind cluttered with sheet music to a wrong world.

 

 

_The insides work the same_

 

 

Tyler moves from the light switches, moving to the large window that looked over the entire city, the heavenly white clouds blocking out blue sky and blue tears, crying down onto the earth in heavy, heavy pouring rain.

It’s Saturday now.

It’s been awhile since he’s seen Josh. He presses his fingertips gently to the window.

 

 

_**“You ever fear the dark-”** _

 

 

Tyler winces, fingertips pressing roughly and smushing slightly against the cold window’s glass.

That voice, once again murdering the hope within his chest, the hope for surgery and maybe a bit more support.

 

 

_**“-Impressions of your future?”** _

 

 

He tries to ignore Blurryface.

 

 

_The slightest gravestone whisper?_

 

 

Collapsing to the hardwood floor of the apartment. Numb yet cold on the floor, Tyler sits in front of the window, crying rain.

The rain drips from his eyes down onto the hardwood.

 

 

_The stillness of your heart?_

 

 

Crosslegged now, he runs his fingers through his short, lovely hair. He sighs, weakly leaning forward to press his forehead against the window.

The coolness of the glass soothing whatever headache had been going on.

 

 

_I feel it growing dark_

 

 

It hurts. It _really, really hurts._

 

 

_A fever inching deeper_

 

 

The rain pours.

 

 

_A fever inching to the core_

 

 

A knock at the apartment door. A soft voice calls out, numbing out Blurryface.

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

“Baaaby boy, I brought some Taco Bell and a few other things, can I come in?”

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

 

 

Tyler sighs, shrugging. He knows Josh can’t see through the door to see the shrug. “Sure, Josh…”

 

 

_I'll send the weak ends down the drain, down the drain_

 

 

The blue haired boy walks in, smiling weakly.

“I brought you your favorite-huh? Okay, how long have you been wearing that? You need to make sure you’ve taken it off after like, hours _or-....”_

He had been setting up the fast food on the coffee table, before looking up to see Tyler across the room, sobbing into glass.

"-Something like that..."

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

“Oh… Oh gosh, baby boy, are you okay? You… We’ll raise money, I _promise…”_

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

 

 

“I woke up at three. It’s _fine_. I still have a couple of hours with it on, I mean… yeah, I _think_ so…”

Tyler opens the window, feeling the raindrops fly into his face, drip into the apartment.

Masking surefire tears that would set off a ticking time bomb inside.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends down the drain, down the drain_

 

 

Tyler shrugs again. “Let’s just eat, yeah?”

 

 

_Shorelines all around the world_

 

 

 _Three_ days later. _One_ song written. _It hurts._

 

 

_Bright lights and some heavy breathing_

 

 

Tyler stands outside in the pouring rain, in the parking lot beside the apartment building, the air smells like rain and asphalt and tears.

He’s standing in the center of the paved area, rain boots on over skinny jeans.

A random button-up shirt over his binder.

No rain jacket- a floral coat of sorts. Rain boots submerged in a puddle of water, down below, tears mixing with hurt and rain.

 

 

_Lipstick and the dagger's kiss-_

 

 

The pain drowns as he stomps gently in a puddle, screaming into the sky as the sky cries for him, cries for no one, cries for itself.

It _hurts._

_Too much._

The scent of rain fills his senses, evaporation fills his lungs and he sobs not-tears. He sobs mist, eyes growing misty.

Mr. Misty-Eyed.

 

 

_Just a figment of a feeling_

 

 

He walks back inside the complex, taking the jammed elevator back up to his floor, the button jammed momentarily before he stomps back into his apartment, slamming the door so the monsters in his chest didn’t follow after.

 

 

_Hands pressed up against the chest_

 

 

Shirt off. Alarm on his phone. 

Yanking off the binder, watching as his emotions and guts spilled all over the hardwood floor, pain replacing the areas where there once was emotion and internal organs.

 

 

_Holding out for the big connection_

 

 

 _None of that actually happened._ But it _felt_ like it. He watches his chest move as he does, he hates it, he glances at a mirror on the wall of the apartment.

It didn’t really matter, did it?

But… it really _did._

Tyler presses his hands to his chest, flinching and sighing weakly.

 

 

_Last lunge never looked so good_

 

 

Weakness.

 

 

_It's a junk show all the way_

 

 

He throws the binder at the mirror. He throws his phone at the mirror, effectively _smashing_ the glass.

If only he could smash the window, let the rain come inside and never stop.

 

 

_As years go crashing by_

 

 

 _Why_ is it always raining here?

 

 

_I think of all I've pondered_

 

 

 _Three_ _hours_ later.

Lazily eating in bed, losing appetite, crying. The rain pours on the roof and window. Why wouldn’t it just fucking stop raining for _once?_

 

 

_So many minutes squandered_

 

 

 _Outside_ again. Twilight. Still raining. Sky darker, yet still cloaked in the heavenly white of the clouds.

 

 

_So many things undone_

 

 

No rain boots. Skinny jeans and a shirt with the floral cloaking him gently. _Rain. Tears._

 

 

_I've tried to figure out_

 

 

He kicks a foot out, almost falling into a puddle in the near-darkness.

 

 

_How many lives I've wasted waiting for the perfect time to start_

 

 

Earlier  that day he wasted lives playing video games, he kinda dug Metroid because of how cool of a character Samus was, regardless of what gender people thought she was.

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

Tyler kicks a chunk of asphalt that had broken loose from the parking lot pavement. He sucked at video games.

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

 

 

A punch. The rain doesn’t let up, but he’s physically fighting a figurative thing.

The rain inside his chest from a lack of money, not for things, not for new instruments or material objects.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends down the drain, down the drain_

 

 

A lack of money to _change._ To show how he felt inside on the outside.

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

Fighting his _chest_.

Fighting his _feelings_.

Fighting the people that _misgender_ him.

Fighting the doctors that _don’t know_ how to _help_ transgendered people.

Fighting the people that say it’s a _phase._

Fighting the people _unwilling_ to _help_ him.

Fighting the people that _hurt_ him.

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

His fist makes contact with the apartment complex’s wall, a shriek as pain throbs through his fist.

Breathing heavy in the parking lot, rain drenching his senses, his entire soul and being.

The rain coats his heart.

The rain makes it easier to breathe, the rain shakes him to the core.

He falls to the asphalt, scraping his knees.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends down the drain, down the drain_

 

 

Tyler shivers, bringing his body back to an upright position, on his feet, and goes back inside.

He always sucked at video games.

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

**Game over.**

 

 

_I'll send the weakends_

 

 

**Continue?**

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

**Yes or no?**

 

 

_I'll send the weakends_

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

Yes.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends_

 

 

“Take off your shirt. And your binder.”

“Wh- _What? Stop_ _it,_ Josh.”

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

“Take it off, I mean, I have something to give you that might make you feel better-”

“Stop it! It’s not funny Josh _. Go away.”_

Josh frowns, exiting the apartment. He had something to give Tyler...

 

 

_(Fight back at the pouring rain)_

 

 

 _Two days_ later.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends_

 

 

“Here. I… I’ve been saving up since you first came out to me in Sophomore year of high school. It should be enough to cover top surgery and a good amount leftover for whatever you want. It can go to whatever you want, baby boy.”

 

 

_(Fight back at the pouring rain)_

 

 

“Oh… Oh _gosh, Josh,_ th-thank you…”

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

The rain pours still. The rain never did stop pouring where they lived. It was _weird._ It felt _right._

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

 

 

Josh and Tyler wrestle in the parking lot, laughing and rolling around in puddles. It was dirty and muddy outside, but it felt clean inside of Tyler’s chest.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends down the drain, down the drain_

 

 

It especially felt clean when Josh witnessed Tyler giving the binder to another person who needed it badly in the city.

Of course Tyler made sure the binder fit the person before he gave it away.

 

 

_I'll kick tomorrow_

 

 

It felt _good_ once he _finally_ beat Metroid.

It felt _good_ when he pressed his hands to the _scars_ on his _chest._

It felt _good_ to not have an alarm on his phone anymore.

It felt _good_ to get the scarred area _tattooed_ over.

It felt _good_ to get a top surgery.

 

 

_Fight back at the pouring rain_

 

 

It felt good to stand in the parking lot with Josh, shirtless, feeling the rain pour down onto their skin.

 

 

_I'll send the weakends down the drain, down the drain._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let you know: I know Tyler is cis. I know this. I am not fetishizing anything. 
> 
> I wrote this for fobfantasia. Proud of you, man.


End file.
